


A Weakness For Lies

by uistic



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Betrayal, Drunkenness, Emotional Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-08-12 01:47:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7915732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uistic/pseuds/uistic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It turns out that from this side of it, betrayal fucking <i>hurts</i>. Seth feels gutted. Humiliated and wrecked, torn between disbelief, misplaced shame, and rage so all-consuming he thinks it might eat him alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Weakness For Lies

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick text, set after Raw 29/8 2016

It turns out that from this side of it, betrayal fucking _hurts_. Seth feels gutted. Humiliated and wrecked, torn between disbelief, misplaced shame, and rage so all-consuming he thinks it might eat him alive. 

He can’t stop seeing it happen in slow motion before his eyes, the way he'll probably be forced to see it on the titantron for weeks and months to come. He was so fucking happy to see Hunter in the ring. So triumphant, so sure it spelled his victory. He can still feel the way triumph morphed into disbelief when Hunter hooked Seth's arms and forced Seth's head between his thighs, the same strong hands that had coached and guided Seth for two years now turned against him.    

Fuck it. He’ll need a new finisher, won’t he? The only person he’s ever going to pedigree again is Hunter himself. 

He doesn't know how he got from the arena to the hotel. He has no memory of the drive, just a vague sense of relief that he didn’t kill anyone on the way. He wants to trash his room - Hunter is still footing the bill, how sick is that? - but he still needs to sleep in it, needs to get up in the morning, get dressed, hit the gym, fight Owens, fight Reigns, fight Hunter, fight anyone who stands between him and the Universal title.

When the knock on the door comes he opens it, then freezes. Dean is standing there, looking at him with a strange expression on his face. Seth tries to slam the door and Dean pushes it open and shoulders past, immediately followed by Roman, still radiating heat from the shower. 

Seth’s not oblivious to what this must mean to them. Probably felt like Christmas morning to see him betrayed and beaten by one of the few people he still trusted. They’ve come to gloat, to see the damage done first hand, and he gets it. He does. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t hate them for it. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t silently add Ambrose to the list of the people he will get up to fight in the morning, even though it makes no sense, strategically. 

Since he can’t physically throw them out he closes the door and resigns himself to endure whatever it is that he’s got coming. If there is a silver lining here, it’s that nothing they can say or do can possibly hurt him more than Hunter’s already done on live television. That grim thought is enough to make it possible for him to flash them an ugly, arrogant smile, the kind he uses to really, really get the crowd to hate him. 

”I’m a little busy. Say it and get out.” His voice is tight with anger, and that’s good. Anger is strength. The whole roster is nothing but circling sharks right now, watching for any sign of weakness to exploit. He’ll give them none. He doesn’t need Hunter. Or Steph. Or his… god, he gets tired just trying to put a name to whatever it is they are these days. 

Dean steps forward and grabs him. Seth panics, for a split second convinced he’s being set up for a Dirty Deeds he can’t remember how to counter. But Dean just pulls him into a tight hug. A second later Roman joins them. The scent of conditioner and sweat and leather and menthol floods his nostrils. He stands stiff like a board, hands hanging uselessly at his side, until Dean grabs the back of his head and pulls him forward, touching their foreheads together. 

”Hurts like fuck, doesn’t it?” 

Dean’s voice is rough and gentle at the same time, and Seth closes his eyes, feeling something burn behind his eyelids. There’s a lump in his throat preventing him from speaking, and he wants to pull away, but Dean’s grip is strong and Roman is right behind him, steady and warm, big hands burning right through Seth’s shirt. 

”We’re getting you drunk,” Roman says. 

”Gotta work out tomorrow." 

Despite everything that’s happened between them, or maybe because of it, he still knows them well enough to hear the look that passes between them. Dean eases his grip but doesn’t let go, while Roman steps back and starts rummaging through his bag. Seth hears the telltale sound of glasses hitting the table. 

”You’ve got three days off. We’re getting drunk tonight. Tomorrow, after Smackdown, we’re going to Nevada." 

We? As in, all three of them? Seth does and doesn’t want to ask, does and doesn’t want to know. He hasn’t been at Dean’s place in years, and isn’t certain he wants pity to be the reason he's invited back. 

"I can’t, I've gotta-" 

He can’t think of what he ought to do. Damage control, his brain supplies, got to talk to-- who, exactly? Steph? Hunter? There is no one else. He's got no friends on the roster, no one but Steph in his corner. She claims she didn’t know but he has no illusions about whose side she’ll be on. He can’t talk it away. Can't fuck it away either. If his mouth could keep Hunter on his side this would never have happened to begin with. 

The worst thing is, he can’t figure out what he did wrong. Or, for that matter, what Kevin fucking Owens did right that he didn’t. 

Somehow they get him to sit down, and there’s a glass in his hand, and then it’s empty, and empty, and empty again. The buzz doesn’t help, exactly, but it’s not hurting either.  

"C'mon, Seth," Dean says after the third or fourth or fifth shot. ”You knew it was bound to happen, sooner or later. I mean, 's Hunter for fuck’s sake. He's betrayed everyone he's ever worked with. He betrayed _Shawn Michaels_." 

Seth laughs, harsh and shrill, and pours himself another glass. Because he should have seen it coming, but he didn’t. He didn’t. He thought — god, he thought he was _special_. The self-loathing is so thick in his throat is a wonder he can still swallow. 

”It’s 'cause I lost,” Seth says and downs his shot. It’s hot and sharp and burns all the way down. It feels like punishment. He likes it. ”To you. And then to Bálor. I couldn’t reclaim.” It’s getting hard to focus. He tilts his head, feeling the whole room slip and slide. He thinks he can hear the liquor sloshing around in his head. ”’s got no use for losers." 

”Bullshit,” Roman growls. ”It’s ’cause he’s an asshole.” He leans over and refills Seth’s glass. ”You’ll get that title. And Hunter’ll get what’s coming to him, you can believe that." 

Dean and Seth snorts in unison. Seth gets a sudden impulse to put out his fist, and even drunk he knows what an incredibly stupid idea that is. Unfortunately his body is faster than his mind and he’s already started the movement by the time his head catches up. He covers for it by reaching for his glass, only there’s two of them where there only ought to be one and of course he goes for the immaterial one. His knuckles hit the real glass, knocking it over. He makes a grab for it, overextends, and falls flat on his face. Dean’s howling with laughter and Seth would be pissed, but the carpet’s soft and comfortable and he’s just got to rest his eyes for a moment. 

He wakes up at two thirty am and throws up until his stomach’s empty and his head is pounding. It’s not until he staggers out of the bathroom that he realizes that someone must have helped undress him and put him to bed. There’s two painkillers and a bottle of water at the bedside table. 

The phone is dark and silent next to the bed. He turns it on and ignores the way it lights up with messages, missed calls and notifications. He opens Twitter and scrolls through his feed without reading before making a tweet of his own, tagging no one: 

_Redesign. Rebuild. Reclaim. It’s never meant more._


End file.
